On A Whim
by Crawler
Summary: This is not one story, but a collection of ficlets that I've written. The rating is that of the highest one within this. Child of the Orc, rated G, is up
1. Explanation

This is not one story, but rather a collection of short ficlets that randomly pop into my mind. As a result, there is probably going to be no connection between them. I'm going to try this, to see if it works out. If you do not like this method of organizing my stories, please let me know. Two of my stories, Legolas' Journal and Fallen City are going to be put under this title, even though I've already submitted them seperately.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for considering to give this a shot.

~Crawler

Oh, one last thing. There is a possibility that stories in here will spawn actually full length fics. If that is to occur, it must have enough support from reviewers. ^__^ I hope this thing works.


	2. Fallen City

Listen to Enya's A Day Without Rain if you have it while you read this. According to Gackt no hime, it adds to the effect.

I don't own anything but the idea.

This takes place in an AU. Elves are gone, and Gondor is in ruins. It's just a quick thing that came to me today, that had been trying to get out for a little while now. I hope you like it, find it bittersweet, or anything, but please reply. It really means a lot to me, since I'm so unsure about this fic.

PG cause an elf gets burnt and there's mentions of slash.

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Inside a fallen city, there rests a ruined castle. An elderly man walks through this building. Although no one has been to the castle in years, he knows exactly where to go. Pushing open a massive set of doors, the old man enters a once grand hall. Now the giant room is charred, damaged by smoke and fire. In the middle of the room is a pile of rubbish. The man crosses over to the pile and picks up on large piece. It is the remains of a painting, a beautiful young man laughing as he plays in a lake. The old man fingers the damaged picture lovingly, flashes of dreams and memories returning. The young man had been an elf, trapped in the world of dreams. He could only visit one person, however, Gondor's king, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Through paintings and sculptures, Aragorn had given the elf life, until one day he was able to walk out of the world of dreams and into the real world. The old man sighed, setting the picture aside and reaching for another. He was Aragorn, and he remembered the elf as if they had never been parted. A simple portrait this time, the elf holding a flower, was what Aragorn recognized in the charred remains of this painting.

"Ah, Legolas. Remember this one? It was my first of you. I had mistaken you for a maiden when I first saw you, which is why I put you in a dress. You always hated this one, for that reason."

He smiled, remembering the old days, as he cast the portrait aside and reached for another. He frowned. This image was still relatively intact, compared to the others. Legolas surrounded by fire. Tracing his fingers over the painted flames, memories were called back.

__

"Seize him!"

"He is a demon!"

"BURN HIM!"

Aragorn dragged Legolas through the halls of his castle, trying to flee the angry mob chasing after the fair elf.

"Aragorn, where will I go?"

Aragorn halted, turning to pull Legolas into his arms.

"I do not know, Legolas, I do not know. Anywhere you go, you will be chased out eventually, unless you can hide your pointed ears."

Legolas reached up to finger one of his ears, tracing the sharp point lightly.

"When I was young, everyone wanted to have pointed ears. It was a sign of grace, beauty, and wisdom. Now it is a sign of demons and evil. I am not evil, I am an elf!"

"And the last of your kind. It has been many a year since elves were last seen, Legolas. No one alive today had ever seen one until you came along. We thought elves were merely myths, not actual creatures who once lived."

Cries rang out from the great hall, which was not far from where the two stood. Jeers and shouts rang through the halls.

"Burn them!"

Legolas and Aragorn crept down to one of the doors leading into the great hall. Peering through a small crack, they watched as the mob piled the pictures and statues of Legolas into a pile, then started lighting the pile on fire. Cheers and shouts of encouragement filled the hall as the art blazed merrily.

"Oh, Aragorn, they're burning your work!"

Aragorn pulled Legolas to him again, kissing the elf firmly.

"Better my work then you. Come, let us flee, while they are occupied."

Aragorn cast the picture aside. He had hoped he would be able to save Legolas, but luck was against him. A portion of the mob had entered the castle from the back, sneaking up on the two. He had only a few moments more with Legolas before they were caught. He sank down onto the pile, clutching his head.

"Why you Legolas? Why you? You were so perfect! You did not deserve your death!"

A hot tear traced its way down the old man's face. He reached up to wipe it away, remembering the last time he had cried. Legolas' death was the only other time tears had come to his eyes in his long life.

__

"What are you going to do to me? Where is Legolas?"

Aragorn did his best to sound regal and imposing, despite the fact that he was being dragged down a corridor. His captors said nothing; they only threw him out onto a balcony. Below him, a group of townspeople were stacking wood around a stake. Tied to the stake was Legolas, who was struggling against his bonds. One of Aragorn's captors finally spoke.

"He is a devil. He has bewitched you. The only way to free you is to kill him, and have you watch."

With that, he nodded to the men on the ground with torches. They nodded back, then touched their torches to the dry wood around Legolas. The wood burned fast, and soon Legolas was choking on the smoke as the flames licked closer to his feet. Over the jeering crowd, Aragorn could barely make out Legolas' last words.

"I love you, my king. I shall wait for you…."

He trailed off as the flames crawled up his body, not letting a scream escape his lips. Aragorn broke free of his captors and ran to the balcony's edge, but would not be able to get to Legolas in time to save him. He met Legolas' steady gaze, feeling a tear course down his cheek.

"I love you too, dear Legolas. I shall wait for you always."

Aragorn felt his heart break as Legolas managed to smile at him. A small smile, but still. The elf seemed unaware that most of his body was consumed by flames. As Aragorn watched, Legolas' smile faltered, and his eyes fluttered closed. Legolas had died. The flames continued to consume him, as Aragorn sobbed brokenly.

"I gave you life, only to have it be taken from you. I told you I loved you, yet only watched as you burned before me. Can you ever forgive me Legolas?"

Aragorn had made his way to the balcony he had stood on when Legolas died. Looking out over his lands, he only saw flooded plains and crumbling cities. This majestic city had started to crumble the day Legolas died. Droughts dried the fields, allowing wild fires to race across them, ravaging the lands. The treasury was depleted trying to bring some food to the people. Buildings crumbled because there was no money to pay for repairs. People fled as they realized that Gondor wasn't going to get better. Even Aragorn left, becoming a ranger known as Strider. He spent his life searching for remnants of the ancient elven civilizations without luck. When he left Gondor, the rains returned. At first, people rejoiced. It appeared that Gondor's streak of bad luck was over. However, the rains did not cease. They poured water relentlessly. Anything that tried to grow was quickly drowned.

Aragorn tilted his head back, feeling the rain wash across his face. He sank to his knees, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the balcony railing. As his eyes fluttered closed, he heard a voice.

"Let's go home."

Despite his closed eyes, he saw Legolas standing in front of him, with one outstretched hand reaching for him.

"Legolas…"

Legolas smiled, stretching his arm a bit more.

"Come Aragorn. Take my hand. Let's go home."

Aragorn smiled and reached for his elf. Together, they climbed the stairs into heaven, to rest together for the rest of time.

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The torrents of rain over Gondor finally stopped. After decades of constant rains, it was amazing that Gondor wasn't completely under water. 

One single sunbeam pierced the clouds and illuminated the King of Gondor. Aragorn smiled in death, his hand reaching for something. No one ever knew what he was trying to reach when he died. 

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	3. Legolas' Journal

I do not own any of these characters.

No slash, romance, humor, drama, horror, suspense, parody, or anything else of that nature purposely worked into this fic. It has not been betad, I wish to present it as I wrote it. This is simply my idea of a possible journal entry written by Legolas four days after the fellowship started out. All opinions in here are mine and mine alone.

I hope I put the right month, I got it from the appendices of RotK, elvish for December, I think.

And a special thanks to Jan and Yuna, who both caught the elvish death error. I thank you for saying something.

G Nothing bad here.

Ringarë 29

We have traveled far today. Our camp is set up far enough away from the road to not attract unwelcome travelers such as the dark Nazgul. Although they were washed away with Elrond's flood, we still fear their return.

The dwarf who travels in our company is speaking of me again. He talks to no one, only wishing to hear the sound of his voice. He sends snide comments my way, as he does every night. He finds me aloof. Actually, to be accurate, he actually finds me to be, "A stuck-up, snobbish, spoiled king's brat who is completely lost in a fantasy world where he is the hero, despite his lack of fighting know how." His words sting sharply, though I know not why. He is but a dwarf! A greedy creature of the deep caverns whose actions plunder and wound the world. His words should not wound me! I do not seek, nor even wish to have, his approval. I wish for none of their approval, save Mithrandir. He is the only one among us who I speak to willingly. As I glance up at him, I see his disapproving frown. That hurts me far worse then the dwarf's remarks. This quest is only four days old, and already I have earned his scorn! I know what he will tell me to do so I may regain his trust and approval. He will say this, "Open your heart and mind Legolas. Accept them into your life, for the nine of us are bound together now. We need to be completely united so our quest may succeed." Mithrandir does not seem to realize that I cannot! I cannot accept these-these mortals into my life! It is not that I am spoiled or snobbish…it is just that I am scared. Yes, me, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, am scared. This isn't the type of fear I felt when I fought my first spider or faced my first orc. Nay, it is more like the fear I felt when my brother was swept away by the river those many years ago. The fear of my heart breaking. Dwarves are mortal, hobbits are mortal, and humans are mortal. They will all die someday. If I allow myself to grow close to them, surely my heart will break when they die.

One heartbreak I believe I can tolerate, two maybe, but seven? My grief surely would be enough to kill me!

That is another of my fears. Death. I know that when elves die, they go to the Hall of Mandos. What they do there, I do not know, for I have never been, and never asked anyone who has been there. I fear the actual process of dying though. Does it hurt to die? What happens to mortals when they die? They do not go to the Hall of Mandos. Where do they go? What if I become mortal and die? Will I still go to the Hall of Mandos? These are things I should have asked of Elrond or Glorfindel before we left Rivendell. Mithrandir might know what I seek, but he is not elven, so I do not know if he will know or not.

He is watching me again. The littlest hobbit…Pippin, I believe his name is. He is asking me something, but I am pretending to ignore him.

Oh what a fool I am! His question was such that I looked up, startled that he could ask such a thing! Why did I hate them so? That was his question! Dear little hobbit, it is not hate I feel for you and our other companions. I merely fear losing you. I do not wish to face the heartache of the loss of a friend seven times over.

Now he asks me to tell of Mirkwood, to share my home the way I see it. The other hobbits have gathered around me, they wish to hear as well. Even the men and dwarves show interest, though they do try to hide it.

It seems this little group has managed to steal my heart despite my attempts to shield myself. Surely it cannot hurt to indulge them, can it?

I must end here then, for they will soon turn away disappointed if I do not begin my tale.

Until later, my friend.

__

Legolas 


	4. Musing One Night

Legolas' Thoughts

This is a Legolas POV. A/L slash kinda sorta spoken about. More like A likes L, and it's L's thoughts on the matter. Takes place at night, the fellowship is camped somewhere, and it is Aragorn's watch.

PG for slash mentioning.

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He's looking at me again. Every night, when it is his turn to take watch, he looks at me. I look back, but he doesn't notice. I have become quite adept at seeing with my eyes glazed over, as if in sleep. He knows not that I watch him back. I know why he stares at me so. He believes he loves me. I know it is not so. No one truly loves me except my family. Everyone else just lusts after my body, or the power they can obtain through wooing me. Occasionally I play along with those who wish it, merely because I long for something to do. Aragorn will be king, I know he needs not my prestige. Why he lusts for me puzzles me though. He has Lady Arwen's heart. I will not let him have mine too. It is ridiculous to even think of such a thing. He may be a king someday, but why would that matter to me? He has little in the way of looks. True, his stormy eyes are interesting to delve into, but the rest of him leaves something to desire. Aragorn looks unkept and filthy. His skin is tanned from the sun and his clothing is muddy from travel. He is rugged and worn. I have no longing for him; there is no reason I should encourage his. I let my breathing slow and my mind wander, finally drifting into true sleep. I will not be his too.

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	5. The Choice

The Choice

Rating: G

Pairing: ?/?

I'll let you decide the warnings for yourself

I don't own any of these characters.

Aragorn has a tough choice to make; Pippin is trying to help.

The Choice

Pippin entered Aragorn's room one night. He found his friend puzzling over a piece of parchment. Ducking under Aragorn's elbow, Pippin started to read.

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Arwen is beautiful. She is small and delicate, with the most adorable smile and darling face. Just the sight of her brings me joy. She is the daughter of Elrond, and I am quite smitten with her. She seems to know what I am thinking, and always can cheer me up.

Legolas is extremely handsome. He too appears small and delicate, but his slight frame only hides his strength. He smiles at me so mischievously, and loves to play with my hands or hair. His antics never fail to humor me, and to make me laugh. Just the way he chased that mouse yesterday nearly had me dying from laughter. His big green eyes pierce my soul through, and his voice is innocent and pure. Son of Thranduil, he carries himself regally, with a grace and dignity about him that I can only dream of.

Arwen seems to know too much. Her blue eyes read everything about me, even more then I wish anyone to know. Her voice is so much higher then Legolas' soothing one, and she screeches. She also has a tendency to sleep on my side of the bed, and refuse to move.

Legolas is not unusually colored, like Arwen is. He is much more muscular, and has a tendency to flop down wherever he feels. If we get into an argument, he ends up ignoring me, no matter what I try to tempt him with. He is not nearly as careful as Arwen, and has broken several ornaments worth a small fortune.

"Aragorn? Are you okay?"

Pippin's question brought Aragorn out of his trance-like state.

"Pippin! I did not see you there! Of course I am all right…. actually, I am not."

Aragorn's voice trailed off as he dropped his head into his hands with a moan. Pippin was a bit more worried now.

"Aragorn? Talk to me! Why are you not all right?"

"I am not all right, little Pippin, because I am in love with two, and can only choose one. Arwen or Legolas? I can not decide!"

Pippin laughed, patting Aragorn's knee with his small hand.

"There, there Aragorn! You are the king here, are you not? Choose them both! I see no problem with that!"

With another chuckle, Pippin left. Aragorn frowned.

"Choose them both? Why did I not think of that?"

He stood and entered his bedroom. Two cats and two kittens were asleep on his bed. Both cats were beautiful females, one a purebred Siamese, the other a golden tabby. They woke when he entered, and immediately jumped down and twined themselves around his ankles. Aragorn bent down to stroke their heads.

"Hello Elrond, Thranduil."

When the cats had received their names, Aragorn was certain they had both been male. After they each had a litter of kittens though, he knew otherwise. Both cats meowed at him, purring under his hands, then turning their faces towards the two kittens on the bed. Aragorn sat beside the little cats, drawing the mothers into his lap.

The little Siamese kitten was female. She had bright blue eyes and most of her fur was still the baby cream common to Siamese kittens. She woke up and moved to sit by Aragorn's side, purring slightly as his hand found the spot behind her ear that she loved him to scratch. The other kitten was a golden tabby like his mother. His eyes were green, and his face was much rounder then the Siamese's. He climbed up Aragorn's back and sprawled over a shoulder, purring for all his little body was worth. Aragorn chuckled softly. The mothers looked up at him, worry seemed to be written on their faces. Which of their children would Aragorn pick?

"Do not worry ladies. I have decided to keep them both. Little Arwen and Legolas will never have to leave my home, for it is now theirs as well, and theirs it will remain."

The kittens, which he had named Arwen and Legolas, both purred even harder. Aragorn laughed again. The list he made had not helped him much in this decision, but a brilliant little hobbit had.

"Remind me to burn that list tomorrow. I do not want the elven Arwen or Legolas to find it and mistake it for a list about them."

Elrond meowed, her Siamese voice a yowl, while Thranduil merely yawned, curling up in Aragorn's lap. The man smiled at his feline companions, shifting Legolas from his shoulder so he could lay down and sleep. The soft purrs around him lulled him away to the land of dreams.

FIN

That is what happens when you are sleep deprived and have an addiction with cats and LOTR.


	6. Child of the Orc

A reader, to answer your question, I have to say no, not really. The first two, Fallen City and Legolas' Journal are indeed exact copies of stories I've already written, but since they both just came to me on a whim, as well as the other two, The Choice, and Musing One Night, I wondered if it would be easier just to have one blanket story for them all. It doesn't seem to be working to well though, so I don't know if I'll continue in this thread or just post them all separately. My On a Whim stories are generally shorter, and I don't send them to my betas, I just post them as they are when I write them.

I hope that answers your question sufficiently. Now I need a story….

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Child of the Orc

This one has Gothmog in it, from An Orc's Impression and Orcs Can Change. You don't need to read those first though. If you don't know who Gothmog is, he's my scaredy cat orc. He's heard rumors of the fellowship and fears for his safety in An Orc's Impression, and he actually joins the fellowship in Orcs Can Change. This has no relevance to the story line of those two though, just one similar character. I don't think I'll put in his accent here though.

O__O I actually own most of the characters in this story! I AM SHOCKED, to say the least. Any names you recognize from LOTR are not mine, the setting and ideas for the characters aren't mine either. The only elves I own are the two action figures on my desk. Elrond and Armless. Please do not sue me for them, I love them to pieces. (One of them really was loved into two pieces)

'speech' is elvish

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Child of the Orc 

Gothmog sat near the campfire, cleaning his sword. It did not need to be cleaned, but he needed something to do. After the metal had been polished to its usual dull gleam, Gothmog decided that what he was doing was boring and pointless. With a groan, he stood and stalked off into the trees. None of the other orcs he was running with even noticed his departure. They were all squabbling over some meat.

Entering the forest that the orcs were currently camping in, Gothmog closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The clean, fresh scent of trees never failed to soothe his restless mind, something unheard of in an orc. He looked at a nearby tree quizzically. It was a beech tree. Slowly, Gothmog reached out to lay his palm flat on the bark, straining to hear the tree's voice. He was shocked when the tree actually drew away, quivering and rustling its branches. The beech recognized an orc's touch, that of a tree killer, and was frightened. Gothmog withdrew his hand, feeling a tear roll down his disfigured face.

"I never asked to be an orc! What I would not give to be an elf again, fair and wise! Not even the trees are my friends, for my touch is that of an orc, even if my mind is not!"

He sank to the ground, clutching his head in his hands. What was he? In all appearances, he was an orc, but his mind, his soul, and his spirit all were that of something else. Not quite elvish, but not orcish either. Gothmog was trapped between two opposite worlds, longing to be pulled completely into one. As he sat and felt sorry for himself, a faint sound caught his attention. Rising and drawing his sword, just in case, Gothmog pursued the slight noise.

After walking deeper into the forest, Gothmog froze. Lying on the ground before him were two elves. Fair and beautiful, dressed in simple forest colors, they were clearly a more solitary type of elf. Their blond hair pooled haphazardly around them, mixing together between them. Eyes that were once brilliant and wise were glazed over in death. Drying blood stained their pale skin, and cold hands clasped baskets of berries and broken jugs that probably held water. A small child was crouched between them, first shaking one, then the other. Tears ran down the young elf's face.

'Momma, Poppa, please wake up! Please!'

The Quenya words, spoken in an innocent child's voice, brought memories crashing down on Gothmog. Running into the arms of two older elves, laughing as they spun him around, dashing through a large forest with another elven child, a beautiful blond, and then his capture. Gothmog closed his eyes, feeling a familiar memory build up within him again.

He had been caught when he was so young, and that other elf was with him. The orcs who held them threatened to torture the blond first, but Gothmog remembered standing up against the orcs just long enough for his friend to escape, disappearing from sight. He no longer remembered the name of the other elf, and never even knew if that elf did indeed escape.

A shriek caused him to open his eyes. The child had noticed him, and was now cowering in fear.

"Stay away! Do not hurt me! Please do not hurt me!"

Gothmog blinked at the words. It had been so long since he had last used, much less heard, the elvish tongue. To hear it again, especially from one so small, brought a small shred of light upon his troubled heart. Forcing his tongue to move in a way it was unaccustomed to, Gothmog spoke Quenya for the first time in many centuries.

'Please, little child, be not frightened of me. I mean you no harm. I heard your cries, and was worried. Are you all right?'

Gothmog held back a smile as the child stared up at him, stupefied. Orcs had probably been the ones to do this to the older elves. To leave a child alone and defenseless was probably the cruelest thing they could have done. A smile on his face would look frightening and hostile. Just his appearance alone was probably enough to give the young boy nightmares. Tentatively stretching out a hand after sheathing his sword, Gothmog whispered, 'Please, I want to help you. What is your name? My name is Gothmog.'

The little boy blinked big green eyes up at him. Reaching out his hand slowly, he whispered back, 'I am Calenseregon. Will you really help me?'

  
Gothmog nodded, and drew the child close. Calenseregon clutched at Gothmog's armor, whimpering slightly.

'My momma and poppa are not waking up.'

'Calenseregon, they will not ever wake up. They have gone to the Halls of Mandos.'

Calenseregon's eyes filled with tears.

'But, but, who will be my momma and poppa?'

Gothmog held Calenseregon close.

'I will. I will try. I will protect you, my little Calenseregon.'

Calenseregon felt his eyes glaze over as sleep overtook him. Fighting back a yawn, he barely mumbled, 'Thank you Poppa Gothmog,' before drifting asleep. Gothmog scooped the boy up in his arms and walked over to a cavern not far from the dead elves. He would keep his promise, even if it would kill him. He would let Calenseregon have the life he dreamed of. Sleep soon threatened to overtake him, but he fought it back, smiling at the treasure in his arms.

'Sleep my Calenseregon. I will not let you down.'

Fin?


End file.
